to Mendelssohn's Wedding March, his hand resting on Malcolm's arm. The pause at the top of the church steps for the mysterious activity of a phot-o grapher with a black velvet cloth over a bulky plate camera. The drive in the sunshine back to Braefoot house now with Malcolm sitting beside him. The Reception there-champagne, speeches, 'my wife and I' laughter and some tears. The escape upstairs to where Susan waited with his going away clothes cinnamon brown suit in the latest fashion with the daringly short skirt reaching only down as far as six inches above the floor, the long jacket coming down well below his hips over a cream silk blouse tied with an artist bow at the neck, a wide brimmed hat per- ched on his hair with a veil tied securely below his chin the long drive in Malcolm's new-fangled motor, noisy, smelly and open to the weather, to the hotel in Edinburgh where they were to spend the few hours of their honeymoon. the champagne supper. But now, at last, weary from the excitement and activities of the day, they were ready for bed.

Curiously, for a young man in 1978, Ian was almost totally ignorant of what might be expected to happen. His parents had died without telling hem anything of the facts of life., and the prurient chatter and dirty jokes of his school mates had only left him confused and uninformed. And Millie, too, was ignorant; Her mother had died when she was tiny and the elderly aunt who had acted for her at the wedding was unmar- ried. Inexplicably, her normally thoughtful and efficient father had failed to provide some mar- ried woman who could warn her of what she must expect. About all that either of them knew, in fact, was that husbands and wives normally slept in the same bed. Undressed and pre- pared for bed by Susan who

had quickly abondoned him for some far distant servant's bedroom at the top of the hotel Ian lay trembling and apprehen- sive in the large bed wondering what would happen. He was not a little frightened.

Not so Malcolm. He was much more of the world than either Ian or Millie and he knew exactly what was going to hap- pen. He was married to the most beautiful girl in all Scotland, and this was his wedding night. Stark naked he strode in from the dressing room and leaped into bed beside the shrinking horror-stricken Ian, grabbed him and crushed the soft, warm body against his own. In Millie's frame Ian struggled desperately, but even the strength of des- pair made him no match for Malcolm. Head averted, he was forced to submit.

At last it was over. Ian, nauseated, wept hopelessly, clut- ching the pillow to his face lest Malcolm, now snoring beside him in the darkness, should re-awaken. Bruised in his strug- gles and wracked with pain, his body felt soiled- befouled by what had happened to him. He didn't even dare to get out of bed to clean himself for fear that Malcolm might wake and rights again. Only one bright thought shone in poor Ian's mind if only he could fall asleep he would wake in the morning as Ian in his own bedroom in Braefoot House and not in this horrible hotel room with its nauseating memories.

At last he dropped into a light sleep, intermittent and re- plete with nightmares whic woke him, trembling and appreh- ensive lest Malcolm should stir. Later he slept more deeply until the early morning sun, shining through a slit in the curtains on his eyes, dragged him back to reality. He was confused, unable to recognize where he was. This wasn't his bedroom where he'd wakened every morn- ing for the last five years. This was-With a sickening shock he

realized he was still in the hotel bedroom. Unbeleivingly he saw his long fair hair tumbled over the pillow before his eyes, and his urgent investigation con- firmed his deepest fear. He was still Millie, still female and, stealthily turning his head, still in bed with his new husban.d, He glanced at the little travel- ling clock on the bedside table six thirty and then with infin- ite care eased himself out of bed and tip-toed across the room to the bathroom blessing the for- ward looking hotel which had recently installed such an up-to- date fitting and dispensed with bedroom washstands and water jugs.

Safely arrived, the door locked, he ran (slowly, to avoid noise) a deep hot bath, stripped off his torn and soiled nightie and sank gratefully into the warm water. Malcolm had to re- port to the Artillery Depot outside Edinburgh at half past nine and every minute Ian could spend in the bath was a minute less time in which he would be vulnerable. The warm soapy water soothed him as it cleansed away the fouling of his skin and his ravaged body began slowly to relax. He was roused by a thunderous banging on the door.

"Millie! Are you in there?" He sat bolt upright in alarm, his heart bumping, the water surging up and over the end of the bath;

"Y-Yes-I'm having a bath!" "Well your maid's here waiting to get you ready, and I must bathe and shave - time's getting on!"

If Susan had arrived the danger was over. Immense relief sounded in Ian's voice as he called cheerfully: "I'll be out directly please tell Susan to

come here."

Their brief farewells at the Depot over, and with Malcolm and his Battery entrained for London and France, Ian and Susan set off back to Braefoot House. But it was not until